The Importance of Strong Pacing and Dynamic Structure in Science Fiction

By Stu Jones and Gareth Worthington

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Pacing, style, and structure. Why does they even matter? I have worlds to build!

This mindset is the downfall of even some of the most accomplished science fiction writers. To a sci-fi author, world-building is often the driving force for the book in the first place. “I want to spend page after page describing, in vast detail, the intricacies of my new world.” After all, isn’t that the fun of being a writer? Creating every nuance and allowing readers to enter the world of our imagination? What could be better for a story than that?

Indeed, historically, this was the status quo. 

Once upon a time, taking our readers through endless reams of description was possible. Hell, it was standard practice in sci-fi and fantasy, as evidenced by many of the greats. From the late nineteenth to mid-twentieth century, a reader was more likely to shell out their hard-earned cash for an author’s latest work. If reading it didn’t conflict with listening to one’s favorite radio broadcast or later, catching one’s favorite television show at five p.m. on a Friday, then there wasn’t much else at home outside a game of cards or a roll in the hay, with which to conflict.

Not so today, at least for the most part.

While there are still readers who enjoy longer novels, with incredible depth of world-building, for the average reader—and therefore the majority of our audience—long side stories about how a certain kind of flora came to be grown on a terraformed planet just isn’t going to cut it. 

And why? 

Because, dear authors, we are competing for attention. In today’s world, a person’s phone is only an arm length away—if that. And if our story lags into page after page of lavish descriptors, our reader will yawn, set the book down, and start browsing cat videos. Or worse, reach for the TV remote to see what’s streaming. And there, in the world of television and cinema, lies our greatest ally and enemy. While we all yearn to have our book adapted for the big screen and enjoy watching the imagined worlds we read come to life, movies and television series mean that our audiences who also read no longer need us to describe things in ridiculous detail. The average reader now has so many visual frames of reference we, as the author, don’t need to work so hard to help them along.

Let’s try it.

Mars. One word. You are already conjuring an image of a red planet, dry and desolate without oceans. A rocky surface and a thin atmosphere. We did not need to tell you those things. One word was enough.

With this in mind, has the entertainment industry destroyed the beauty of science fiction writing? “What can we do against the tyranny of Facebook, Instagram, and three-hundred-million-dollar movies?” you cry.

The answer is two-fold.

Firstly, we can address structure and prose. We can describe where it is necessary, where the reader may not have encountered our particular nuance for a given fictional ecosystem. But where just a few words will suffice to give the reader that visual nudge, we can move on. We can drive the story forward. We are, of course, referring to pacing.

 So, what do we mean by pacing?

It means two things. Number one, always be moving the ball down the field. Something has to happen. And it needs to happen often from the work’s start all the way to the finish. Every chapter should have a purpose to move the story along, not just describe something we would like to tell the reader about our world. If we want to convey a detail, make that detail important to the narrative. Now don’t get us wrong and interpret what we’re saying as descriptors aren’t vitally important. Descriptive prose is the perfume that helps to draw the reader closer to your vision. But perfume alone the beauty does not make. In the end, it’s a delicate balancing act between enough description to draw the reader in, without detracting from where the story is going. It takes constant vigilance to ensure we, as authors, do not wax or wane too far one way or the other.

When we were writing It Takes Death To Reach A Star, we struggled with this. After all, we’d created this whole new world and there were so many elements to show and so many factions vying for a moment in the spotlight. Even though our entire story was set in a single city, we had created a universe with religions, cultural factions, and histories---not to mention the merging of real scientific theories and religious doctrine. At times we were totally overwhelmed with the scope of what we were trying to accomplish.

To our great relief, we feel we managed it with reviews applauding our world-building and comparing it to the likes of Philipp K. Dick. Yet the book is only eighty-four-thousand words. Quite average by any fiction standard. How did we achieve that?

Well, during the refining process, our amazing editor, Jason, came to us with a formula which we both now use in all our writing: The 25, 50, 75 rule. He said that at regular intervals, things should be happening. Little things. Everyday moments of story intrigue and character development. But interlaced between those moments, at major quarter intervals, something big should happen. Maybe it’s a major character reveal, a plot twist, or the development of an unforeseen love interest who promises to change the scope of the story, or a look into the villain’s plan to do something dastardly. But something important that is central to the story should happen. Then, between the little moments and the big moments, the reader is anchored to our story.

No more checking the smartphone or Netflix, because now our readers have to know what happens in our story. If we can achieve this, then it’s safe to go ahead and pop the champagne. When an author nails pace and structure and their story leaps to vivid life, everyone wins.

So, next time you’re outlining your book, think about the rule above. What are the big moments in the narrative? When you’re writing, try to include your descriptors as part of the story, the narrative. Let your characters experience the world and relay what you see in detail, but keep the experience moving. We don’t sit at our desks contemplating the shape of the keys at which we tap away. Instead, we press them and move our story along.

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A Dragon Award Nominee, Stu Jones is the author of multiple sci-fi/action/thriller novels, including the multi-award-winning It Takes Death To Reach A Star duology and Condition Black, written with co-author Gareth Worthington (Children of the Fifth Sun, A Time for Monsters).

Gareth Worthington is an authority in ancient history, has hand-tagged sharks in California, and trained in various martial arts, including Jeet Kune Do and Muay Thai at the EVOLVE MMA gym in Singapore and 2FIGHT in Switzerland. His work has won multiple awards, including Dragon Award Finalist and an IPPY award for Science Fiction.

Fact to Fiction: Turning Real Crime into Story

By Anne Da Vigo

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Almost everyone has some memory of a real crime that has stuck with them.

Maybe you saw TV news about a strange disappearance. Or a great-uncle spun a tale of a brazen heist. When you worked for a former employer, you heard whispers of evil deeds.

For mystery writers, that’s how novels are born: an earworm of an idea sparked by real crime that won’t shut up until it’s transformed into fiction.

I started on the road from fact to fiction in the late 1970s. I was working as a journalist back then, in the agricultural and oil industry town of Bakersfield, California.

My editor sent me to cover a murder trial. The jury found the accused not guilty of stabbing and beating to death a local businessman. I wrote the story and within months had moved on to a bigger newspaper. 

But I was haunted by trial testimony about a thirteen-year-old boy abused by the victim.

Three years later, the boy murdered another of his abusers, a top county government official.

The victim was part of a secretive group of powerful men in business, law enforcement, and the district attorney’s office who abused vulnerable teens. These and other murders involving the circle were dubbed the Lords of Bakersfield cases. 

I spent years thinking about the Lords, and eventually began writing what would become my thriller, Bakersfield Boys Club.

As I sat down at the computer, I faced decisions many crime writers face: how to craft actual events into fiction.

First, I needed a unifying character to knit the story of the murder series together, someone with a passionate commitment to uncovering the truth.

My solution? Creating a struggling widow whose teenage son was ensnared by a circle of dissolute men. She wasn’t a real person, which gave me the freedom to delve into her innermost thoughts and feelings and share them with the reader.

Her harrowing journey from disbelief to relentless outrage also formed the essential character arc for the story.

Next, I wanted to include several characters in the thriller that were loosely inspired by real people, but I wasn’t certain how to protect myself against an accusation of defamation.

I found several internet sites that helped address my concerns. You can find a list on my web page, www.annedavigoauthor.com.

Basic advice for authors: mask characters by changing their names and physical characteristics.

Another aspect of defamation law was helpful as I wrote the thriller. Most of the prominent players in the Lords cases had died by the time I began writing; only a living person can file a claim for damages to their character or reputation.

Truth, of course, is the basic defense against allegations of defamation.

In my case, the local newspaper had written a series about the Lords of Bakersfield, winning a major journalism prize. I felt confident about using events that had been vetted by their lawyers and disseminated widely in the press.

Pacing was another issue that had to be dealt with in morphing the story from fact to fiction. Because the actual events occurred over a period of nearly twenty-five years, I was finding it difficult to build suspense.

Several drafts and thousands of words later, I decided to compress the murder series into a two-year time frame. That way, the frantic mother was working against an escalating threat to save her son.

I chalked up my strategy as a success when several readers said they stayed up late to turn the last page.

Finally, the facts, incidents, and characters that formed the factual story needed to be woven into a theme for the fictional mystery.

The theme wasn’t clear in my mind when I began writing, although my outrage at the abuse experienced by young people had been brewing for years.

As I wrote, the theme began to emerge: those who exploit the weakest among us must be punished, no matter what the obstacles.

My commitment to the theme of Bakersfield Boys Club led me to write a conclusion I’d never considered when I began the mystery.

Now I’m at work on another thriller, this one sparked by a mysterious tale I heard at my husband’s college reunion.

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Anne Da Vigo is a former journalist and public relations professional who lives in Northern California. Her thriller, Bakersfield Boys Club, is available from Amazon or on order from your bookseller.